


Woman Without a Country

by subjunctive



Category: Captain Marvel (Marvel), Marvel 616
Genre: Amnesia, Beating Up Bad Guys In Alleys, Friendship, Gen, tracksuit mafia - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1393549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subjunctive/pseuds/subjunctive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carol finds herself prowling the streets of New York at night, looking for action. She finds some - and someone following her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Woman Without a Country

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rekall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rekall/gifts).



> The title is from an Eavan Boland poem of the same name.

Carol's preferred activity of late was beating up bad guys.

Of course, she'd gotten the impression that the earlier Carol - herself, whatever - did plenty of this too. There were enough mission files, youtube videos, and photos swimming around the internet for that much to be obvious, and she'd done the research. But whatever earlier Carol had done to fill up her free time, knitting circles or reality TV or what-have-you, she wasn't doing it now.

Instead, she found herself itching for a fight. Just about any fight, really. After the Builders, there hadn't been any really big crises that had required her attention or skills - skills that, she had discovered, were pretty damn limitless, as far as she could tell. A few local skirmishes here and there, little things headed by equally little guys and gals.

All wastes of talent. Her talent, which was obviously not inconsiderable, was going unused. It wasn't enough.

So that was why she found herself roaming the city at eleven one night, bomber jacket zipped halfway up and her hands stuffed in her pockets. There was no other word for it: she was prowling.

The smart thing to do would have been to stick to the wide streets, public and full of lights. Or maybe get some takeout, head home, watch a movie, fall asleep. Smart. Yeah.

Carol had the feeling she had never been too keen on _smart_.

Instead, she ducked her head and kept her ears open, following a street she knew was considered dangerous. (The scramble to explain to her how New York was laid out and where all the sections were - and finally the degeneration into an argument about where the best pizza could be found - had been ridiculous, but she'd made it a point to remember all the neighborhoods they'd said were unsafe. You never knew when that knowledge could come in handy.)

Like now. There was a brightly lit Thai place on her left, sandwiched between a dark dry-cleaner's and some kind of postal store thing, and for a moment Carol considered a detour, because those were some delicious smells. But then . . . she heard the faint sound of an impact in the alley out back, and paused.

It could have just been the sound of someone dropping a heavy bag of trash on accident, she thought. Probably that was what a normal person would assume, or pretend to assume while going about their business.

But she wasn't a normal person, and she didn't believe it. That was the sound of flesh on flesh, she was sure.

Decision made, she turned into the alley, not bothering to soften her footsteps or hide her presence. Let them know she was coming. Her heartbeat sped up with anticipation.

Around the corner, she found herself faced with four men in one very dimly lit situation. Her brain seemed to know how to size up potential threats, still, which was a relief - couldn't do her job otherwise - and supplied her with the immediate knowledge that three hostiles with weapons were ganging up on a fourth guy, who was cowering in the corner by the dumpster. One of them had a billy club. At least one more had a gun tucked into the back of his pants. The guys with weapons were all wearing purple tracksuits, which Carol found pretty funny.

"You guys hit up a thrift shop before coming here?" She was grinning, feeling perfectly at ease for the first time all day.

They didn't really seem to get the joke. "No problem here, bro," said one. The asshole was wearing sunglasses in the middle of the night. Who _did_ that?

A second grabbed the victim's shoulder and shook, a parody of camaraderie. "Right, bro?"

"No, no problem," the guy assured her in a wheeze, looking down. He was clutching his stomach. With a start Carol realized he was the owner of the Thai place.

Carol gave an exaggerated frown. "I'm just not so sure . . ."

"Bro, just personal business," said the third, cigarette bobbing as he spoke. "We protecting him, bro."

A protection racket, she guessed. Which meant this was probably organized crime, not just a random mugging in an alley. Carol felt a little thrill at the possibility of a real good fight.

She summoned a smile that came disturbingly easily. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that, boys," she said sweetly, stepping forward. Her boots crunched on gravel and plastic. "See, he makes the best pad thai I've ever had in my very short life. I'm sure you understand. _Bros._ "

Carol knew she had to get herself between the wannabe mafiosos and the Thai guy. There was a good chance one of them might try to use him as a hostage against her.

So she launched herself into the air in a low arc, taking advantage of their surprise to flip around and drop down between them. A quick sweep of her legs felled the first; she snatched up the billy club from where he had dropped it. Her personal memories and emotions and favorite TV shows might have been wiped, but her muscles remembered _everything._

 _Restraint_ , she reminded herself, albeit a little reluctantly with the heat of a fight thrumming through her veins. She couldn't go around accidentally killing civilians because she didn't have her powers under control.

The second, recovering from his shock, made to swing at her. So slow. With her free hand Carol caught the punch and _squeezed_ , not hard for her but definitely hard enough for him; he made a muffled sound and nearly dropped to his knees.

"You guys prepared to give up on this?" asked Carol. She wasn't even winded.

She heard the click of the gun before she saw it. Momentarily Carol froze. The sound was much louder in real life than it had been in the few movies and TV shows she'd watched recently. It was one thing to read in her file under _Powers_ that she was bulletproof. It was another for someone to point a gun in her face.

"Sorry, bro, you don't get to use that today." Another voice came out of the darkness, this one female and, Carol thought, familiar. A pair of legs wrapped themselves around his neck, coming out of the darkness above whip fast, and sent him sprawling. Along with the gun, which the first guy made to reach for, before Carol stepped very gently on his hand and swooped to pick up the gun. He winced and let out a muttered curse.

"I don't think you want to do that."

Carol's not-rescuer had rolled and gotten to her feet, brushing herself off. "Jessica?"

The woman's hands paused momentarily before resuming. "Jess, Carol. It's just Jess." Internally Carol winced. She was still making all these little mistakes that reminded her she didn't belong. Awkward.

In their interlude, the tracksuited jerks had scrambled away, the last one disappearing in a flutter of purple around the corner. Sighing, Carol turned to Jess. "You wanna chase them down?"

Jess made a face and looked like she was about to say something, before the guy from the Thai place broke in. "No problems," he said again, and hesitated. "Thank you, but . . ."

Carol did the math: She hadn't seen him be attacked, technically, so he would have to testify. If this really was a criminal organization, that would be dangerous for him. And it had been her who'd thrown the first punch, not them. She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Sure, whatever."

He looked relieved, although one hand was still cradling his side.

"Are you okay?" Jess's voice sounded worried.

He waved off their concerns with his other hand. "Only . . ." Grimacing, he looked like he was searching for the right word. "Hit. One hit."

"Nothing broken?"

"Nothing broken," he confirmed. "What can I get you . . . dinner?"

Jess and Carol traded looks. "I've heard the pad thai is really good," said Jess dryly, "people get into fights over it," and Carol had to laugh.

"Sure, why not."

Carol tore into her pad thai with gusto. The serving sizes here were _huge_. She was still feeling a little antsy from her disappointing encounter with the tracksuits, as well as Jess's . . . rather _sudden_ appearance. That was definitely something they needed to have a conversation about.

"I didn't need your help," she said suddenly, chopsticks stilling. "I could have taken that last guy just fine." It was important for her to know. And for Carol to say it.

"Oh, I know." Jess's smile was cheerful. "I just wanted a piece of the action for myself."

"Good. Just so you . . . know."

"So why were you picking fights with gangsters in the middle of the night?" The question was light but not un-serious, and Carol made an automatic face in response.

No time like the present, that was Carol's philosophy. Or at least it was now. "Why," Carol responded through a mouthful of noodles, "why were _you_ following _me_?"

To her credit, Jess didn't miss a beat, looking up to meet Carol's eyes squarely. Carol had to respect her for that. "I asked first."

Shrugging, Carol leaned back in her cheap plastic chair. "Just bored, I guess." Wondered if that was a good enough excuse, if other . . . _Avengers_ . . . had similar extracurriculars.

"That kind of thing is what the police are for, you know." Jess spooned some curry over her rice and quirked an eyebrow across the table, clearly suppressing a smile. "We did tell you about the police, right?"

"I know what law enforcement is, thanks." Annoyance tinged her tone. "Anyway, the cops weren't there. I was. Pretty simple math, if you ask me. That's all there is to the story."

"Well, it did get us a free dinner, so you're off the hook," said Jess breezily, waving her spoon around. A few drops splattered on the table, but Jess didn't seem to notice. "At least this time."

"This time?"

"You're going to get into trouble if you try to do some kind of vigilante crime-fighting thing. With people who are on your side, even. Not to mention you're pretty recognizable, so. There's that. We have people who could get away with it, maybe, but like I said, for you, lots of trouble."

"Don't tell me I have to worry about PR problems," grumbled Carol. Of all the stupid . . .

Jess looked sympathetic, though, and reached out to pat Carol on the arm. "I know. You can't help it. You're a hero through and through."

Chafing at the idea that this near-stranger knew more about her than she herself did, Carol suddenly wanted to change the subject. "Now it's your turn. What's up with following me around? How long have you been doing that?"

"I'm supposed to help keep track of you," said Jess bluntly, through a mouthful of rice. "A couple weeks. Nothing major - we don't have eyes on all day every day. It's nothing . . . _serious_ , if that's what you're worried about. We just want to make sure you're doing okay. Adjusting. That kind of thing."

"You people ask me that every five minutes," snapped Carol. "Maybe you guys could try _listening._ "

Jess gave her a look, one equal measures exasperation and fondness. "Yeah, a monotone 'I'm fine' every time someone tries to talk to you about what happened and changing the subject quickly is really persuasive, let me tell you."

"What's there to talk about? I don't have any memories from before a month ago, it sucks, I'm over it, let's all get over it." She stabbed at her pad thai aggressively.

"Like I said: really persuasive." Jess shifted in her chair, looking uncomfortable. "Actually, I kinda wanted to talk to you about that?"

If the conversation got really annoying, Carol decided, she could just walk out. Maybe that would get everyone on the same page. She waved a hand irritably. "No promises I'll do any talking, but shoot."

"Well, everyone's been thinking, what's the best way to deal with this? We kind of decided as a group that we were just going to be as normal as possible around you - no big changes, no treating you differently, your life will stay the same. As much as possible, anyway."

Carol took another bite, nodding for her to continue. With the exception of all the stupid questions about how she was doing, she'd gotten that impression.

"But I was thinking about it, and that's weird, isn't it? It's what you do with someone who has amnesia and you're hoping they'll get their memories _back_ , you know? Remind them of all the familiar stuff and hope it jogs something."

"I'm not going to get my memories back, though," Carol reminded her, wiping her mouth. "All gone. Kaput. Hard drive erased."

"Exactly, that's what I'm saying." Frowning, Jess put her spoon down and studied Carol closely, chin in hand. "Here we all are, knowing you really well, and you don't know any of us. Well, now you do a little, but you know what I mean. And we're just treating you like nothing happened. It must be weird for you."

It had been. Little in-jokes, exchanged looks, references she'd been expected to get - it had all left her feeling frustrated and out of the loop. And when someone half-apologetically did try to explain something, it was just awkward and anticlimactic. Not that she wanted to try and explain _that_ if she could help it. Carol frowned ferociously at her noodles and settled for a "Yeah, I guess."

"You should have the opportunity to get to know all of us. That's what I'm saying, I guess. Go on dates with all of us, that kind of thing. Ask us twenty questions. Pair up with us individually on missions. Make up for lost time and all that."

"Dates?" Carol raised an eyebrow.

"You know what I mean."

A question stuck in her throat, but it had been gnawing at her for weeks and she couldn't _not_ ask it, like prodding at a fresh wound. She wondered if she'd been that way before, too. "And if - totally hypothetically - I'm . . . different?"

"Then we'll get to know the new Carol," she said firmly. No hesitation. "From what I've seen of her, she seems pretty great too."

Carol's shoulders relaxed minutely. "No promises," she joked, and watched Jess's face closely. "I found a show called _Dog Cops_ on my DVR the other day. Seriously, who watches a show with a title like _Dog Cops_?"

"Oh my God, you did not just say that." Jess's eyes widened. "You're discovering _Dog Cops_ for the first time. This is so exciting! You're going to love it!"

"I thought you said it was okay if I wasn't the same as before," teased Carol, with only a little bit of trepidation. "What if I don't like _Dog Cops_ anymore?"

Suddenly, Jess stood, chair squeaking as it was pushed away. Her hands were on her hips. "You're not going to love _Dog Cops_ because you're exactly the same as before you got amnesia," she declared. "You're going to love _Dog Cops_ because you're a human being with a functional heart, that's why. You didn't erase those episodes, did you?" At Carol's shake of the head, Jess beamed. "Okay, first friend date: I'm Jessica Drew, also known as Spider-Woman, et cetera et cetera, now I have to catch you up to speed on the latest developments on _Dog Cops_."

Her smile was infectious, Carol found. They walked back to the apartment arm-in-arm, food in hand, and for the first time that she could remember, she felt like going home.


End file.
